Healing Alternative
by DeniseV
Summary: His friends would highly recommend that no one doubt that Chris cared about Ezra. The gambler might still be, to this day, the biggest pain in Chris Larabee's fine ass, but that was Chris' burden to bear. He had his own way to help Ezra, and you could kiss Chris Larabee's fine ass if you didn't like it. It was a complicated relationship.


"Does it hurt?"

The glower young J.D. Dunne received would have sent most men on their way, the glare representing nothing less than a potential bullet between the eyes. The sheriff remained in his seat, oblivious to the danger, waiting on a response that was never going to come.

"Kid, why don't you go check on our guest over in the jail," Buck Wilmington suggested. The youngest member of their group of peacekeepers in Four Corners, the group now famously known as The Magnificent Seven, had come to mean a great deal to the former Texas Ranger. He also knew his old friend Chris Larabee well. J.D. was pushing it with his injured boss. Remaining ignorant to that fact would only result in two of their number getting hurt this day.

"Josiah's there," J.D. answered as he turned from the blond to answer the handsome mustachioed man. The healer Nathan Jackson continued to stitch the deep cut that was made by Ralph Oldham's knife. He'd already cleaned it and treated it in hopes of staving off infection. Another ten or so stitches following the twenty Nathan had already sewn - a testament to the severity of the cut – and they all could be on their way.

"And he's only there until someone goes to relieve him. He needs to get goin' if he's gonna get to the reservation before dark," Buck reminded his friend.

"Oh, yeah," the man wearing the bowler hat and the familiar brown suit said as he stood from his seat. "I forgot." He looked to Chris, still expecting an answer. The former gunslinger displayed impressive resolve as his gun somehow remained in its holster. "Well, guess I'd better go." With no one suggesting any different, J.D. stepped to the door, opened it and left, closing it softly behind him.

Chris turned and scowled at his friend.

"Don't look at me, old pard. You're the reason he thinks ya walk on water."

"And nothin' to be impressed with," Nathan mumbled, mostly under his breath.

"What's that?" Chris asked, irritated. It was hard to tell if the man was angry at being J.D.'s entertainment for the last hour, getting cut as bad as he did, or because of Nathan's last comment.

"I said ain't nothing you did today that was so impressive," the black man replied heatedly.

"Now, Nate, Chris probably saved your life … "

"I know that, Buck!" the healer shouted as he looked at the town's renowned ladies' man. Just slightly more calmly, he added, "And that knife, just a little bit to the left, and he'd be dead."

Chris sat quietly as Buck continued to defend him.

"Nate, you can't expect us to sit back and do nothin' when you're threatened like that. We were all there … "

"'cept Ezra."

"He had reason," Chris assured the upset former slave.

"I don't know 'bout that," Nathan challenged, still angry. "If he'd been where he was supposed to be … " He finished the last knot and tossed his supplies into the basket and did not finish his thought.

"I told you he had to go … "

"Back to the saloon," Nathan bit back at Chris' comment. "'Cause runnin' a game was more important than helpin' a friend. Or … Or gettin' some from Inez …." Nathan wasn't able to finish that thought as Buck was immediately in his face, and then punched him in the same. Chris watched as the big black man landed up against the dresser, jostling everything that rested on top of it. Nathan put his hand up and swiped the blood from his mouth.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Buck leaned in menacingly and threatened, "Don't you ever talk like that about Inez again." He leaned away and went on, "We know he wasn't there to cover us. We compensated. It wasn't pretty, but Chris' injury bein' the worst of it was a good day. It's a bonus that Ralph Oldham is a wanted man; one more lowlife'll get himself a cozy cell at Yuma."

"How can you excuse him right in the middle of … "

"It wasn't the middle of nothin'. It was before Oldham even started to act threatening," Chris explained.

"That ain't true. He pulled the knife … Ezra was right … he was right … he …." Nathan stopped talking and frowned.

"He was walking, slowly, away after he told me and Chris …." Buck stopped, recognizing that the healer was finally grasping the situation.

Nathan looked back and forth between his two friends. "Oh, no." The healer remembered Ezra walking with an unnatural hunch in his shoulders. And indeed, he was walking slowly, which is part of what made him look so strange walking away. The former slave should have known something was wrong with that picture. He stood, started to replenish his travel bag, and then asked, "What's wrong?"

"He's all right. He was just goin' to go to his room, lay down," Buck said.

"Shit. Sick headache." Buck looked to Chris, both men lowering their heads. "What?" Nathan persisted.

"You said he should rest if he ever got a sick headache," Chris said harshly, but added with concern, "and a bad nosebleed," he told his distraught and clearly guilt-ridden friend.

Nathan sighed. "How bad?" he asked as he returned to his jars and bottles and threw another item in his bag.

"That fancy handkerchief o' his didn't stand a chance. I gave him my bandana," Buck replied.

"All right. I'm headin' over," Nathan said as he looked at Chris. "You're goin' to your room to sleep." It wasn't a question and it wasn't a suggestion, but Chris didn't take it as the order that was intended.

"Right after I check on Ezra."

"You don't have to check on Ezra. I'm going to check on Ezra. You need to take it easy. I'll have some food sent over," the healer said, as though that was how it was going to be.

"I'll eat at the saloon after I check on Ezra," Chris said, his countenance one that dared anyone to challenge him.

Buck seemed up for the challenge.

"It'll only've been an hour or so since ya saw him, old pard. You miss 'im already?" Chris stood, took a moment to stare down his longtime friend, and walked out the door.

"Guess we know how it is," Nathan said as he grabbed his bag and followed in the direction taken by his most recent patient.

"Guess so," Buck agreed, looking perplexed and not at all sure he knew how it was.

* * *

Chris agreed to sit and eat while Nathan looked in on the gambler. Despite the fact that the wound hurt and moving would be uncomfortable and painful for a while, the leader of the peacekeepers of Four Corners still had an appetite. Buck sat with his friend as Vin Tanner joined them.

"The one at the undertaker ain't wanted, least not accordin' to the pictures we got," the long-haired tracker said as he took a long draw on his beer. Buck finished the last of his food as Inez brought a plate out for Vin.

"Thank you, 'nez," he said with a warm smile.

"You are welcome." She turned to Buck. "Are you finished?" she asked as she glanced at the empty plate.

"With my food," Buck started with a suggestive tone, "Why yes I am. You are a mighty fine cook."

"Gracias," she answered, ignoring Buck's lame attempt at flirting. She took the plate and her worried countenance back to the kitchen. It was obvious that her primary concern, other than clearing plates, was for Ezra.

"Think he got in without her seein' anything?" Chris asked. He took another forkful of the fluffy eggs Inez kindly prepared at the former gunslinger's request. He was hungry and he wanted what he wanted to eat. Chris knew that Ezra had told the pretty Mexican that a nice plate of fluffy scrambled eggs was one of Chris' favorite meals. Like the chicken and biscuits that made Sundays so special, the eggs also brought fond memories to the widower.

"If she knew he was bleedin' all over himself, she would be up there," Buck said.

"She looks worried, and now that she knows Nate's up there, she'll be even more concerned," Chris added.

"But they had that fight yesterday," Vin reminded everyone at the table, though it would have been hard not to hear the aggravated, raised voice of the Mexican beauty as she admonished Ezra for something. Unfortunately, none of those within hearing were as fluent in Spanish as Ezra, who wasn't speaking of the confrontation, or Vin, who had been out visiting with Nettie Wells at the time of the lover's spat.

"That fight," Buck started, realization coming to them all of where this particular sick headache might have originated. And that was on top of the New Year's stress of arguing with Chris and then saving the Vigil family and their house from a potentially deadly fire. His left hand was still healing from that night, a continued frustration to the poker player.

"Yeah," Chris said as he wiped his mouth with his napkin and rose from the table. "I'll see you fellas later."

"Much later," Buck suggested.

"My bed may not be as nice as Ezra's, but I'm still lookin' forward to gettin' in it."

After a slow walk to Ezra's room, Chris entered without knocking. He shut the door quickly and quietly, aware that the southerner's sick headaches were made worse by bright light and loud sounds. Chris trod as quietly as the thin rugs over creaky wood floors and spurred boots would allow. He removed the boots and then sat in the chair that the healer had obviously placed there for him. Nathan gave him a sidelong glance as the boots were left beside the bed.

The healer had a damp cloth placed over Ezra's eyes. There was a hint of pink on his skin still around his nose and mouth. An obvious accommodation had been struck between the two men that any further ministrations could wait until later. Chris smiled sadly, knowing that the card sharp was hurting badly to agree to push off cleaning up any further.

"Mistah Lar'bee?" Ezra asked, barely audible. He held the rag away from his face. "Should you not be abed?" Ezra's eyes were slits as he looked at the leader of their peacekeeping force. Nathan must have informed the card sharp of Chris' injury.

"I'm headin' there. Just wanted to make sure you were all right," Chris said quietly as he put his hand to his bandaged wound but somehow managed not to rub it. Nathan's steely glare was seemingly enough incentive to keep his hand still; he removed it to rest on his thigh.

Ezra snorted a laugh, which brought on a pained moan. The gambler moved to lay on his left side, bringing his knees up and his still-healing left hand to press into his forehead, dropping the cloth to the bed. His right hand fisted, and he seemed to be going to his head with it in a most threatening manner. Chris grabbed the hand, forced their fingers to thread, and held on tightly.

"Go ahead. Squeeze as hard as you want." He replaced the cloth over Ezra's eyes.

Nathan watched as the poker player did just as he'd been told. He didn't like how Chris was bent over; the position had to be hurting his patient. The healer knew for a fact that his other patient was suffering far worse. The former slave had forced a pain relieving tea into his friend and encouraged him to take a taste of some boiled witch hazel steeped with yarrow. Neither of these curatives seemed to do all that much for Ezra when he suffered the severe headaches. It was possible that these natural treatments prevented the pain from being worse, though there was no convincing evidence of that one way or the other. As a healer, this particular malady was particularly frustrating to treat.

The effort to bear this spike of pain brought a small trickle of blood from one nostril. Nathan reached over and sopped it up. The action startled the gambler; the sudden movement caused more pain. He squeezed Chris' hand harder.

"Lord," Ezra cried out softly. More blood seeped from his nose to his upper lip, and Nathan was there once more to clean it up. Chris caught the healer's eye. Nathan understood the look.

The nosebleeds were new. It happened, to a far lesser extent, during each of the last two bouts of sick headache that Ezra suffered. Nathan had not yet determined what the bleeding meant. Until today, he wasn't convinced it was a serious problem; Ezra was prone to minor nose bleeds during especially cold, dry winter days. Today qualified as one of those. It had been a long time since the previous episode; they were almost convinced that the southerner might have turned a corner on getting these headaches so frequently, about four times a year. The weather was mild back then, the nosebleed negligible. To be honest, the research that he was supposed to have done on this was placed out of his mind with the healer's practice so busy as the town continued to grow.

The bleeding this time was worrying, and it would make Ezra feel more tired than his normal recovery, which was already unpleasant. The former slave needed to put a priority on that research, he hated seeing Ezra suffer like this.

Nathan looked once more at Chris and Ezra. The notorious gunslinger Chris Larabee still held Ezra's hand, though the pained man no longer grasped Chris' with a white-knuckle grip. Their leader also sat back, as though his intention was to stay in that chair rather than head to his room at the boarding house.

"What are you doing?"

Chris put the index finger of his unencumbered hand to his mouth, clasped Ezra's hand firmly and leaned over to the man's ear. "Be right back," he whispered.

"No … "

"Yes." Chris took the cloth, dampened and rung it out and placed it back on his friend's forehead, making sure to cover his eyes. He gently pressed his hand over the rag, certain that the gentle coolness touching skin everywhere it could helped to soothe the ache, even if it was only momentary.

Chris walked with Nathan to the end of the hallway.

"You ain't sittin' there all night," the healer said.

"I am staying with Ezra tonight," Chris insisted.

"Chris, I did not just put all those stitches in you to have you sittin' up. I agreed that you could eat and see Ezra."

"I'm stayin', Nate."

"Why? Why you? We can all take turns … "

Chris shook his head. "Nathan, I know you and Ezra are getting along better, but you still don't see what he does. And the way you jumped on him not being there with us earlier tells me that you don't want to do what's right … "

The former stretcher bearer during the war frowned, then got mad and interrupted. "Are you accusing me of not doing my job, as a healer?" The black man was ready to continue, but Vin joined the conversation, having heard the last of it as he took the last steps to the second floor from the back staircase.

"He ain't sayin' that, Nate. You know that."

"I guess I do, but I don't know what he's meanin' now."

Vin sighed. "You remember the last sick headache Ez had?"

"Yeah. It was in the beginning of the summer."

"And Ezra was in terrible pain for a day and a half, until … "

Chris took up the story. "Until I got back. I don't know why, but he responds to my presence differently from everybody else."

"Could be, like lots o' things 'tween you 'n' Ez, that he knows he needs comfortin' and he senses the right way ta handle the situation," Vin explained.

"The situation?" Chris asked, knowing what would be coming next; knowing the truth of it even if it took someone else to say it out loud.

"You need ta comfort as much as Ezra needs comfortin'." Vin nodded to the gambler's door. "He ain't gonna ask for it, he keeps everything all tight inside, jest like Maude taught 'im. And you, you had a chance ta comfort, a wife and a son, and ya liked it. Ya miss it. He knows that. Ez reads ya like a book, Larabee. Know ya don't think anyone does, but Ezra does. He knows what ya need before you do, sometimes."

"So you think Ezra gives Chris permission to let that side of him out?" Nathan asked.

"A side that I've tried to forget."

"And he won't let ya. He knows what it's like not ta have someone, not ta be comforted, ta be on 'is own. And he sees how much ya miss bein' a husband and a daddy. He's lettin' 'is guard down."

"And he'd tell you he was doin' it for you if you asked," Nathan said, understanding the goings-on better now. Considering how little the medicines helped Ezra, it was no surprise that the southerner might seek out an alternative to help him through the intense discomfort of these headaches.

Chris nodded his head. "But he really is doing it for both of us. It's a perfect proof of how much he's changed since we first met him."

"And that he don't let Maude get to him the way he used to," the former slave said.

"Yeah, but that's still gotta hurt," Vin said, "seein' the light 'bout her."

"He's got all of us now," Chris said.

"That he does," Nathan agreed.

"Yep," the tracker added. "Inez, too." The three men looked at each other, silently agreeing to get things righted with the couple.

"I'm gonna need a cot," Chris said.

"I'll fetch it," Vin offered.

"Thanks," Chris replied as he headed back to Ezra's room. Nathan shook his head as he walked to the stairs. He needed a drink.

* * *

Chris awoke from a very short nap on his less-than-comfortable cot. He looked over to Ezra. A low, persistent moan was coming from the ailing man, who had his right fist pushed hard into his right eye.

There was no way that could be helping.

Chris pulled his long legs to the floor, stood, and then sat on the edge of Ezra's bed. His own wound pulled slightly, but ached less. He found the rag that he'd earlier placed on his friend's eyes laying on the pillow; he tossed it into the bowl on the nearby table. He leaned over and put his hand on Ezra's sweat-dampened neck.

"Ezra?" he said quietly. The semi-conscious man flinched slightly but didn't otherwise acknowledge the former gunslinger, other than to lean further into the touch. "Ezra," he said again, pulling the fist away. "Stop that."

"Hurts."

"I know, but I also know that what you're doin' ain't helpin'."

"Takes mah mind … off the pain." Ezra tried to move his fist back where he had it, but Chris held the hand firm. With his other hand, he reached over, wiped the perspiration from Ezra's forehead, and then gently rubbed his fingers in a circular motion at the card sharp's hairline, pressing the sweaty bangs back. A barely there sigh told Chris that the massage was soothing, even if only a little bit, but there was no way the tall man could keep up the soothing ministrations in his current, uncomfortable, hunched-over condition. The stitches were pulling something awful. He knew what he had to do, even if he would never live it down if he fell asleep and was found in Ezra's bed. With Ezra in it.

He stood from the stooped position, walked to the other side of the bed, pulled the covers up and nestled up against Ezra's back. He sighed, feeling the soft-yet-firm luxury of the featherbed. Then Ezra spoke.

"Apol'gies," he muttered as he started to get out of bed. "You should have th' bed … stitches." He moaned, took a few quick breaths and added, "Ah'll sleep on the floor."

"No," Chris said as he thwarted Ezra's attempts to get away. "Don't move. You'll just cause more pain."

"Sorry. Tha's why Ah should take the floor. You need comfort … "

Chris held Ezra in place as he cut him off. "We can both use the comfort of this nice bed. Now relax, will ya? Tryin' to escape will jostle the bed and bother my stitches." The gambler stopped moving, but stiffened immediately at the comment. "Ezra," Chris said as he gently shook his companion's good arm. "Relax. Your virtue's safe … " he paused, and then with just the right effect added, "tonight."

Ezra snorted a laugh, but that turned out to be a huge mistake. He threw his right hand up to his face, pressing against his eye.

"It's all right," Chris soothed as he took the hand away, resting it on the card sharp's hip, holding it in place there. He took the sweaty head carefully with his other hand and urged, "Lay your head back," as he gently coaxed Ezra's head to the pillow that was now partly up against Chris' shoulder. Ezra resisted and Chris whispered, "Come on."

The former con man complained, "Your injury."

"My injury is on my right side. This is extremely comfortable for me." And it was, his left shoulder positioned on the softness of one of Ezra's feather pillows, the other pillow pressed between him and Ezra's head. "Relax." Chris heard the hesitant breath, followed by a relieved sigh. "That's good," Chris practically cooed. "Just relax."

"But Vin … Buck … "

"Fuck Buck," Chris replied, followed instantly by, "Don't laugh," as Chris kept a gentle massage going on Ezra's head. "He and I shared a bed or a bedroll more 'n' once. Vin, well, you know he's fine, knows it ain't nothin' but a friend helpin' a friend." Ezra snorted lightly. "Not that way. Besides, Vin wouldn't care in a bad way if it was somethin' more." Chris paused and then added, "Which it ain't."

Ezra nodded faintly. "Our tracker is far more open to …." The tired poker player waved his hand, displacing Chris', seeking the right phrasing, yawned as the search took longer than expected, and finally settled on, "the ways of the world than men who've traveled farther and witnessed more."

"Figure Vin's seen enough."

"Indeed." Ezra yawned again, and moaned, turning his head farther into the pillow that was being held in place by Chris' chest.

"Go to sleep."

"Ah fear … "

"Don't. Relax. Don't worry. Just sleep." Chris stopped speaking, Ezra mumbled incoherently, and in just moments Chris heard the sounds of sleep from his bedmate. He sighed himself as the long, hard day finally caught up to him as he fell into, as Ezra would have said, the arms of Morpheus.

* * *

"How's he doin'?" Vin whispered as he and Inez carried two trays into Ezra's room.

"Been sleepin'," Chris mostly just mouthed back to his friend. He looked at Inez, whose eyes seemed on the verge of filling with tears. He smiled at her and whispered, "He'll be all right. You both will." She nodded, blinked, and then rushed from the room.

"They'll figure it out," Vin said. "You want ta trade places, have somethin' ta eat?"

Chris looked to the window. "How long?"

"You been sleepin' fer almost seven hours."

"Really?"

"He been out the whole time?" Vin asked in a hushed tone.

"He's had some bad moments, but mostly he's slept. Me, too." The blond looked over to the trays. "I could eat. Think we can make this move without wakin' 'im?"

"Tha's not nec'ssary," the card sharp said lazily.

"Shit, Ez. Sorry."

"No worries, Vin. Chris," the barely awake man said as he rubbed his face lightly, "please feel free to extricate yourself. Ah am fine," Ezra said in his own near-whisper. Clearly speaking loudly was still affecting him. And he didn't move at all, evidence that he was still pretty done in.

"You sure?"

"Yes. Ah will rest comfortably. Enjoy your repast with Mistah Tanner."

The tracker helped Chris out of the bed by holding Ezra up away from the pillows. The sick man had already fallen back to sleep, even with all of the movement. Chris scooted out, his wound causing him only minor discomfort. He put the pillow back in place and with Vin eased their sleeping friend on to it.

"Reckon he turned the corner?" Vin asked as he started in on the savory stew.

"Maybe," the former gunslinger said as he, too, took a taste of the thick, rich concoction that Inez had prepared. "If he is, he'll sleep now for most of the next day."

Vin nodded and then enjoyed a bite of the buttery biscuit that Gloria Potter baked. It was a treat that the two women knew Ezra really appreciated. It was a shame that he would not be interested in eating for a while longer.

"Don't see a body goin' through what happens to Ez three or four times a year and not havin' some trouble down the line." The Texan took another spoonful of the hearty soup, then said, "Figure the nosebleeds really are a sign that somethin's changed."

"Yeah," Chris added.

The two men finished their supper in silence. Vin finally said, "Think maybe one of us needs ta help Nathan with this research he says he needs ta do. I know he's busy, but Ezra …." Vin didn't finish the thought and he knew he didn't have to. Chris was on the same page.

"Figuring out what's wrong and if there's anything that can be done to help him has to get to the top of the priority list around here." Chris looked at Ezra and smiled, then said, "He ain't gonna like it."

"Guess there's gotta be some fun in it fer us," Vin parried with a twinkle in his eye.

"Try not to make me the bad guy, if you can," Chris pleaded. It was no small request. He knew Ezra felt both uncomfortable and beholden to the leader of The Seven. He didn't want any reason for Ezra to have to feel bad about what they had planned, or threatened into not seeking help when he needed it.

"Ya take all the fun out of stuff, Chris." Chris stared at the former bounty hunter. "I know. It's serious stuff. We'll play nice."

* * *

Two mornings later, the leader of the lawmen of Four Corners was having breakfast at his regular seat at The Seven's regular table at the saloon. Buck had been with him there for a while. J.D. just started eating as Vin joined them.

"Sleep good?" Vin asked their leader.

"Yep."

"How's that cut?" J.D. asked, just barely finishing the question as he shoveled some beans into his mouth.

"Feels better than I thought it would," Chris admitted.

"Reckon Nate must've done a good job cleaning it. I know he used some o' that stuff he got last time he visited the reservation." J.D. took another bite of his meal and then said, "Nate up with Ezra?"

"No. He's at the Pritchetts," Vin said with a sad shake of his head.

"Oh, no. What now?"

"Joey fell out of a tree," Buck said.

"Again?" the young sheriff asked.

Chris was very serious when he added, "We need to check in on them more regular. What is this, the fourth time he's fallen out of a tree?" As the town became less violent, the peacekeepers had taken on the added role of checking the welfare of the citizens of Four Corners, including when there was something to be worried about within families.

"Ain't right," Vin said.

"Nathan's gonna watch extra careful, and go out for extra follow-ups with this injury," Buck said.

"Did he break somethin'?" J.D. asked.

"Left arm. Again."

"I'm headin' up to check on Ezra," Chris said.

"Of course you are."

"Shut up, Buck." Vin smirked. "You, too."

"I didn't say … "

Chris cut the tracker off. "You were gonna." The blond man walked toward the staircase as he listened to his friends' chatter.

"Gimme that," Buck said.

"Hey! That's mine," J.D. retorted. "Get your own!"

"Well, I would, kid, but I ain't seen Inez for a while. My coffee's cold, too."

"You know where the kitchen is, Buck. Last I looked, yer legs ain't broke," Vin said with obvious humor.

Chris smiled at the friendly conversation. At Ezra's door, he leaned in close. Silence. He opened the door and found something more to smile about.

Ezra slept in the center of his bed, on his side. His face didn't show any of the pain he'd suffered throughout the previous two days. In front of him, curled into a tiny ball, lay Fred the hound dog. Ezra's lax hand rested over the dog's back; both were emitting light snores.

Behind Ezra and spooned up against him lay Inez. She was not asleep and she was fully dressed. She smiled at Chris and he returned the same. Chris remembered when he and Sarah would fight. Their battles were very different from the epic arguments that Ezra and Inez shared. There had been many days to even weeks over the last year where the couple would sleep separately, each too stubborn to give in. Chris had never gone a full day away from the woman he loved, at least not following an argument. They always settled everything before Chris ever had to leave for any reason. Despite the guilt he still felt over their deaths, he knew that he never had to regret the way he had left them that day to head out with Buck. Love and gratitude for what he had; it was those feelings, those memories that brought him through the devastating loss and sustained him to this day. He didn't understand these two, but he was glad to see what was before him now.

"I will be down," the pretty woman whispered.

"Take your time," Chris said as he opened the door and pulled it closed quietly behind him. The morning discussion drifted up the staircase as Chris made his way back down. He found comfort in the knowledge that with Ezra recovering and Josiah due back anytime from visiting with the Indians that they would soon be back as one.

Or make that seven.

The End.


End file.
